A Life of Temperance
by The.Mad.Shadow
Summary: It began with a Friday surprise from a dashing FBI agent... Reviews are always welcome
1. Birthday

**Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Bones, though I would love to.**

_**Author's Note: Ah birthdays. So much can go wrong.**_

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It was Friday afternoon. All was quiet at the Jeffersonian. Everyone in the Medico-Legal lab had left for the weekend. Everyone that was, save Temperance Brennan.

"Come on, Bones, it's just drinks!" A man's voice called. He was staring at the forensics platform, where Brennan was bending over a person who had to have been dead at least three hundred years.

"No, Booth. I have too many things to do." She called back, pointing at the skeleton on the table in front of her, "Including identifying him." They had been having this argument for at least ten minutes, with neither side refusing to give in. He had chased her from her office to the temporary bone storage, and finally they had ended up here.

"Bones, come on! It's your birthday! Live a little. That guy has been dead for centuries, he can wait a little longer."

"Booth…" She said, in the most menacing tone she could muster.

"Please?" She looked up again, eyeing him suspiciously, "For me?"

"Is this one of those times when you try to get me to do something for you and it actually ends up being for my own good?"

"Maybe. Can we go now?"

"Will you leave if I say no?"

"No."

"Fine. Let me just tidy up."

"Be ready in five?"

"If I must."

"You must." She opened her mouth to argue again, but he held a finger up to his lips and she stopped. It seemed as though he truly would not take no for an answer. Sighing, she got to work putting the skeleton back into the box from which it had come. An excavation crew in Maryland had discovered the remains during a recent foundation dig, and this had been her first chance to examine them. They would have to wait until Monday, provided that she wouldn't have to identify another murder victim.

She was just locking up bone storage when Booth called. Hurriedly, she went to her office and snatched her coat, bag, and the pile of documents that she needed for the weekend, and locked the door behind her. She made it to him just as he was opening his mouth to shout her name again.

"Nice timing, Bones. You hungry?"

"A bit."

"All set?"

"Yes."

"All right then, let's go."

He gestured for her to give him the files she was carrying, and she obliged. It was pointless to turn down chivalry from Booth; he would always get his way in the end. The two of them walked towards the parking lot, empty-handed anthropologist and laden agent, with a comfortable silence stretching between them.

Booth's black SUV was the car closest to them. He stopped to fish his keys out as they approached it, making sure not to drop any of Brennan's papers, then half-ran to catch up with her. He expected her to stop at his car, but instead she made her way over to her own. He sighed and shook his head at her stubbornness, then opened his door and deposited the documents he was carrying on the backseat.

"Bones, you're not getting out of this." He yelled at her, as she turned her car engine on. She honked at him in response, but he was already running in front her, blocking the exit. "Bones, turn off your car." She opened her car door and stepped out, leaving the engine running.

"You're in my way."

"Yeah, Bones. Only so you don't leave."

"But I want to leave."

"And I want you to leave." He agreed. She opened her mouth to say something and he continued, "As long as you leave in my car."

"But how am I supposed to get here in the morning?"

"It's Friday Bones, remember? It's the weekend."

"Okay, and Monday?"

"I'll pick you up."

"You're like a dog with a femur about this."

"It's 'like a dog with a bone', Bones. Now turn your engine off and get in my car." Once again, she was forced to concede. She got back in and cut her engine, then slammed the door shut. After a moment, the lock clicked into place and she followed Booth back to the SUV. She stopped suddenly, looking as though she had just solved a puzzle.

"Hey, Booth?" She asked skeptically.

"Yes, Bones…" Came the exasperated reply.

"Can I drive?"

"No, of course not."

"But why not? I never get to drive! I'm an excellent driver." She paused for a moment, then added, "And it's my birthday."

"Fine." He climbed out of the driver's side and tossed her the keys, then made his way around the back. Happily, she got into the car and turned the key. Next to her, Booth grumbled about obstinate women and drivers, and she gave him her most innocent smile before pulling out of the spot and driving away.

It occurred to her, as she was driving out of the Jeffersonian's private road, that she had no clue where Booth intended to take her for drinks. He had obviously meant for them to go to a particular place, but he had never actually told her his plan.

"Booth?"

"Syd's."

"Okay."

They drove the rest of the way in total silence. Every time they stopped at a red light, she would glance at him, see him glare at her, and turn her attention back to the road. Very soon she was pulling into a spot right in front of the restaurant. Syd's was one of their favorite places to dine or order takeout from. Normally it was fairly crowded, the noise from its patrons wafting out onto the street, but tonight it was dark and dead silent.

"Booth, are you sure about this?"

"Yeah Bones, I even had Syd set aside a special birthday meal for you."

"You know you really didn't have to do this." She turned the gas off and got out, tossing the keys across the car to Booth.

"Bones, can you just be quiet and accept my present?" He asked as he shut his door and locked the car. He indicated that they were, in fact, going in. She followed him.

"I just don't see the point. Birthdays are all about the celebration of aging and maturity. The giving of presents is a way for the guests to assert partial possession of a day that is supposed to belong only to the person whom they are celebrating. Ergo, I don't like presents."

"For once, take something at face value and don't look into it." He said, opening the door as he did so. His last few words were drowned out by the sudden eruption of noise. From every possible hiding spot in the room sprang people. The lights flashed on revealing streamers, balloons and a banner that read "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TEMPERANCE".

Booth turned to face Brennan, a large, goofy smile on his face, but all he met was empty air. He heard the door open and glanced in its direction just in time to see her running off in the direction of her apartment.

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_**Author's Note: I have no idea how long this story is going to run, nor if it's going to end up B&B. But I will say this: I thrive from commentary. Anyone who has constructive criticism to give me is thanked in advance. And I'm already working on chapter two...  
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	2. Broken Noses

**Disclaimer: Hart Hanson is the genius, I am not.**

**_Author's Note: Chapter two. Oh what fun. A childhood experience comes back to haunt our favorite forensic anthropologist, who then does something I would love to watch._**

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Forty-five minutes later, Brennan unlocked her door with hands that shook so badly it took twice as much time as normal. She slammed the door behind her, blinking fiercely in an attempt to not cry. From deep within her subconscious, a memory of her childhood surged, uninvited.

_Her prison was pitch black and cramped. She barely had enough room to turn her head, let alone unbend her legs. They were numb from being forced into their current position for so long. She had been warned that this would happen. Her foster parents had let her know the consequences for breaking their fine china as soon as she had set foot in their house. She had ignored them, believing herself to be as graceful as a swan. Now she wished that she had simply heeded their admonition and not been so stubborn. It was all her fault._

_She couldn't understand why she had so irrationally reached for the plate. She had known that the water was hot, yet she insisted on handling the china. So, of course, it had been hot, and she had dropped it. The little pieces of white porcelain flew everywhere, large chunks, medium-sized bits, and small shards alike. They had made her clean everything up with her bare hands, leaving her fingers covered in small cuts from the razor sharp edges. And then they had locked her in here, bleeding hands and all. Again, it was totally and completely her fault._

_She had no idea how much time had passed, nor when she would be released from the trunk. The only constant was the guilt that she felt for bringing this upon herself. Her logic had been flawed, something that happened very rarely, and so she had erred. Next time she would make sure… No. There wouldn't be a next time. She would never again use mistaken logic. This could not happen again._

_Trying to meliorate the horrible situation that she had caused, she closed her eyes. If anything, the space behind her eyelids was lighter. She began to mentally recite the names of the elements on the periodic table. Hydrogen, helium, lithium… The activity was soothing. Long ago, she had realized that when everything around her became illogical and meaningless, she could turn to chemistry. Science was always science. It made sense. It wanted to explain the physical world, not distort it. Before she knew it, she was asleep._

_She awoke to a series of beeps. Somewhere near her, an alarm was going off. She tried to stretch her legs and arms, forgetting, for a moment, that she was trapped. Pins and needles shot up and down her entire body; she felt involuntary tears run down her face. She heard thumping, and then yelling. Someone in the house was moving._

"_James, the alarm's ringing." Her foster mother's voice yelled. The sound was muffled, unlike the beeping. It seemed as though she was closer to the alarm than they were._

"_I can hear it, Audrey. I'm not deaf." Was his only reply. Perhaps they had set the alarm to remind them when to set her free, she thought. It wouldn't have been the first time that they had forgotten something. She remembered the story that one of the other foster teens had told her about how their dog had died of starvation. They just weren't the type of people who kept track of everything._

"_Well, go turn it off!"_

"_Why can't you get it?"_

"_Because, James, I'm ironing your shirts right now!"_

"_Can't you put your ironing down for one second?"_

"_Not if you want all of these done by tomorrow."_

"_But the big game is on!"_

"_James, just turn the alarm off for God's sake." She heard the thud of a chair being pushed back, and then the thumping of her foster father's feet on the stairs. He was grumbling loudly as he walked closer to her, though she couldn't make out any actual words. He shut the alarm, and she heard him turn to leave, then stop. There was a moment when she heard nothing, and then he yelled up to his wife._

"_Audrey, should I unlock Tempe?"_

"_You moron. That's what the alarm is for! I told you before, 'when the alarm goes off, undo the lock.' And here I am, thinking that you would actually listen to me for once."_

_She heard the clatter of keys being brought out, the clicking noise of a lock opening; the trunk opened and she yelped as strong arms reached out to grab her. The trunk had been left in the middle of the kitchen, near the spot where she had dropped the dish. She looked at the calendar that Audrey and James kept hanging on the wall to her right. Her eyes swam as they attempted to adjust to the sudden influx of light in her surroundings, but she managed to make out the date. It was her seventeenth birthday._

_James began to shake her. Gently at first, but each successive series of shakes grew more violent. It was beginning to hurt, and she no longer wanted him touching her. Mustering all the strength that she could, she half-blindly through a punch. Her fist connected with something solid; James bellowed, letting go of her; and she sank back into…_

The couch. She was on the floor, clutching a bottle of beer. The knuckles of her empty fist were covered in blood. From what sounded like her bedroom came cries of pain. Male cries of pain.

"Booth?"

"Wow, Bones. You really know how to punch." Came the reply. Booth appeared in the doorway, one of her hand towels held up to his face.

"You shouldn't startle me like that."

"Sniper training Bones, just remember that. I was taught how to be very quiet."

"I think we can both agree that you did not make a wise decision."

"No kidding." He groaned. She noticed that the towel, which had once been white, was now covered in blood. It was probably a match for the blood on her hand, given his earlier exclamation.

"Hey Booth, would you like me to take a look at your nose?"

"Oh, no, Bones, I'm okay."

"You don't look okay to me. Let me see it." She stood up, wobbling slightly on her legs. Her head spun from her rising so quickly from a prolonged sitting position.

"Really, Bones, I'm fine!"

"No, you're not. Given the amount of blood on my towel," she gestured toward the soaked cloth he held in his hand, "I believe that I may have fractured your nasal arch."

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_**Author's Note: This story just seems to flow from my fingers. Again, I really hadn't thought about this until I sat down with my laptop and started writing. Constructive criticism (not just "You suck" or "You rock") is always appreciated. Chapter three might be in the works. Depends on what my muse wants.**_


	3. The Wall

**Disclaimer: *tear* Sadly, this show and its characters are not mine.**

**_Author's Note: The aftermath of Brennan's punch. And some (dare I say it) hints of B&B...  
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"Booth, stop fidgeting and wincing. Movement will only make this feel more painful, not less." They were sitting on the couch, her hands lightly tapping his nose. Now that he had removed the towel from his face, it was evident that something was wrong. The bags underneath his eyes had gone from the light lavender-gray of exhaustion to a deep shade of purple.

"I'm sorry, Bones. But you know, it's a little difficult to sit still when you keep touching me like that." He drew in a sharp breath as her fingers hit a particularly sensitive part of his bruised face, but the glare that he received made him stop moving. To distract himself from his situation, he turned his attention to Brennan.

"So, Bones. Some party that was." She said nothing.

"Syd was upset that you didn't get the chance to eat his dish." Again no answer. He sighed. She was shutting him out, like she did whenever things got to close to home. He thought that they had finally gotten past that, that she could trust him. Obviously, he had been wrong. There was silence between them as her fingers pressed. Minutes passed. He whistled a tune that he had learned from one of his buddies back in his army days. Finally, Brennan pushed herself away, off of the couch and towards the kitchen.

"There is definitely at least a hairline fracture, Booth." She wasn't facing him as she said it.

"Oh goody. Well," he chuckled, "at least now I know how hard your fists are." He flashed her a grin, but she still wasn't looking at him. His face fell.

"It's okay, Bones. I promise you, I've had far worse than a broken nose." He got up, careful not to touch his face as he walked over to her.

"Don't you dare touch me!" She yelled. Her voice sounded like she was a half-strangled cat. She was shaking. A barely suppressed sob escaped her lips, and he stood there, watching her, looking bewildered.

"Bones, what's wrong?" He asked.

"I'm just overtired Booth. They've assigned me to Limbo cases and I spent many hours this week bending over my lab table."

"Anything thing else?"

"No!" The force with which she declared this statement was enough to make him frown. She was hiding something. She wiped her eyes with her hand and walked past him, towards the entrance to her apartment. "You need to go."

"Aww, Bones! Then you'll be all alone! That's no way to celebrate your birthday!" She shuddered at the words 'celebrate' and 'birthday'.

"Maybe not Booth, but it's a lot preferable to being around an insufferable lunatic who breaks into my apartment and then scares me half to death." She opened the door and indicated that he was to go through it.

"Oh no you don't. Temperance, I have been your partner for five years. Do you remember what I told you when we worked on Clio Eller's case?" He was angry now. She was deliberately pushing him away. He needed to stop her. "I told you that partner's share things. I think I deserve at least a little bit of an explanation."

"Fine." She snapped, fixing her eyes on him. They were bright with unshed tears.

"Good. And I promise you, I'm not leaving until then." He stood there in the middle of the room, holding her gaze. She was the one to look away.

"Anthropologically speaking…" She began.

"No, Bones, I want an answer from you. Not some stuff about a culture that I could care less about." She stood there, frozen, looking unsure of what to say. He had left her defenseless. Now she would be forced to tell him the truth.

"I was fifteen." She said, her voice barely more than a whisper. A tear rolled down her cheek and she turned to face the wall.

"Bones..." He was next to her in a flash, spinning her around and pulling her into his chest. His shirt muffled her words of complaint, and, after a moment, she stopped talking. Her arms wrapped around him, and he put his chin on her head. They stood there, intertwined in front of the open door, neither one pulling apart. And then a phone rang. The sound of bells filled the air, and Brennan leapt away, pulling her cell out of her pocket.

"Hi, Angela." She sniffed.

"No, I'm fine."

"Really, Ange. I'm just tired."

"No, I don't need you to come visit me."

"I promise Ange, if I need you, I'll call."

"Oh, alright. If you insist." And with that, she shut her phone and looked at Booth.

"Booth, I promise, I'm okay. I just need some time to myself."

"It sounds as though Angela is going to be here soon."

"That's not my fault. She didn't give me a choice." She looked at him, "The way you didn't give me a choice earlier. I told that I didn't want to go."

"My mistake for wanting to do something nice for you."

"That wasn't nice," her tone had suddenly gone sharp, "that was cruel." And with that, she shoved him out of her apartment and locked the door behind him.

"Bones," he yelled, "just because you kicked me out of your place does not mean that we can't have this discussion."

"As I have said numerous times, Booth. I am perfectly fine."

"I know you, Bones. The fact that you've left me standing here just proves to me that something is wrong. Now, we can talk about this now, or we can talk about this when Angela gets here and you let the both of us in."

"Talk about what when Angela gets here?" Unbeknownst to either of them, Angela Montenegro had just arrived in the elevator, carrying what looked to be a large assortment of junk food and alcoholic drinks. "Sweetie, could you let me in? My hands are kind of full…" The door swung open just as she finished, and Brennan pulled her quickly inside.

"Booth, I don't want to talk to you anymore."

"Bones, don't shut me out."

"Take a hint." And with that, she slammed the door in his face, leaving him to walk back to the elevator without having found out the root of the problem. He pressed the elevator button hard in annoyance and anger, hoping that sometime soon his partner would lower the walls protecting her vulnerable self.

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_**Author's Note: Thank you to jsiebert for your remarks. I'm not exactly sure that I like the way this chapter turned out, but please, let me know what you think. If I don't end up rewriting this, the next chapter will focus on Angela and Brennan, and possibly a special discovery by Booth.**_


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